


Brotherhood

by TinkerBella



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:43:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinkerBella/pseuds/TinkerBella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically a little tag for Sleight Of Hand where I whump D'Artagnan a bit and the Musketeers offer some comfort.  Ya know, brotherhood at its best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brotherhood

Vadim was dead.

D'Artagnan thought he would feel relieved, but mostly he felt numb. He stared down at the man for a moment, then made to rise to his feet. Only to catch sight of the coin lying in Vadim's palm. Reaching for it, D'Artagnan asked, "Would it be all right if I kept this?"

Aramis shrugged. "I don't see why not."

"A token of your great adventure?" Porthos ventured.

"A reminder," D'Artagnan countered. "That things aren't always what they seem." That particular lesson had nearly cost him his life. 

Athos nodded his approval as he reached out to guide D'Artagnan away from the body. "A good thing to remember." They had come too close to losing the boy and it would do them all good to keep in mind that letting themselves be distracted, even for a moment, could prove to be deadly. But for now they had other matters to contend with. "Treville will send someone to take care of the body," he informed D'Artagnan. "He's also taking care of clearing your name."

D'Artagnan was glad to hear that and said as much. "I don't relish the idea of having to watch my back every minute for fear the Red Guards will attempt to capture me." They made there way back through the broken gate and into the tunnel, and D'Artagnan found himself stumbling into the wall. It had been a long few days and he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten or slept properly.

"D'Artagnan?" It was Aramis who spoke his name. He put a hand on the Gascon's shoulder to steady him and eyed him with concern. "Let me take a look at you."

"I'm fine." D'Artagnan shook off the hand and pushed away from the wall to continue through the tunnel. "I tripped over something." He winced at the lie, but he didn't want anyone fussing over him. 

Athos moved to fall into step with him. Somewhere along the way he had picked up a torch and he held it aloft as he studied D'Artagnan. "You've been injured." He made it a statement, not a question.

D'Artagnan sighed. "Just a few bumps and bruises." He gestured to Athos. "You look a bit worse for wear yourself." 

"Point taken," Athos allowed, a small smile gracing his lips. "We got a bit closer to the explosion than was wise."

 

"Tell me about it," D'Artagnan muttered, not meaning for them to hear.

 

But Aramis was close enough and he questioned, "What happened to you? We found your blood." 

 

D'Artagnan shrugged, which set off a series of aches and pains rippling throughout his body, which he studiously ignored. "Turns out Vadim never did trust me. As he said, it was a good trick and he was letting it play out. And I fell for it." He knew he was leaving out a lot of details, but he felt that was for the best. 

 

"We all did," Athos pointed out. "You gave us the clue to it, but none of us figured it out." He didn't want the boy pointing the blame at himself when they had all missed the obvious.

 

"Mon Dieu!" D'Artagnan hissed, as a sudden realization hit him. His eyes went wide with horror as he whispered, "Monsieur Bonacieux thinks I'm an escaped prisoner. He's probably tossed all of my things." Not that he had much to his name, but now he would have nothing left and no place to stay. Not to mention the fact, he needed to get cleaned up. The latter of which he, apparently, muttered out loud. 

 

Aramis clapped him on the shoulder. "No worries. You can clean up at my place. I'm certain I have a shirt that will fit you and my landlady will like you."

 

D'Artagnan wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to the landlady comment, but he was grateful for the offer otherwise. "My thanks," he replied.

 

"Go with Aramis," Athos interjected. "Then all of us will meet up at the Bonacieux's to explain what happened. I am certain Madame Bonacieux will have already made an attempt to smooth the way." 

 

They had reached the stairs leading out of the tunnels and parted ways. Athos and Porthos to check in with Treville, and Aramis and D'Artagnan heading off so the young Gascon could get cleaned up and go about putting his life back in order, such as it were.

 

To D'Artagnan's surprise, Aramis had a bath drawn for him when they reached his rooms. The landlady did, indeed, take a liking to D'Artagnan and hustled about, ordering her husband to fill the tub and be quick about it. Aramis had chuckled all the while as he scrounged up a clean shirt. The landlady, meanwhile, cleaned D'Artagnan's leathers for him so by the time he was done bathing he had fresh clothes to wear. 

 

D'Artagnan was dressed only in breeches and boots when Aramis entered the room. He was able to sneak in without the boy knowing, because D'Artagnan had his back to him as he dried his hair. Aramis was about to make his presence known when he saw the bruising on the boy's torso. "What happened to you?" Aramis demanded, fingertips poking and prodding the black and blue discolorations.

 

"Ow!" D'Artagnan darted away, scowling at the other man. When Aramis simply followed him, hands reaching out again, he slapped them away. "Stop that!"

 

"What happened to your wrists?" Aramis was horrified as he stared at the raw, scraped flesh. He leaped forward, grabbing D'Artagnan by the arm and dragging him over to the bed where he made him sit. "I thought you said you were fine?" he sounded angry as he gripped D'Artagnan by hand and forearm, leaning in to study the damage.

 

D'Artagnan tried to tug his arm free. "I am fine! Let go!" They played tug of war with his limb for a moment, until D'Artagnan managed to slip free. He jumped up then turned to snag the shirt Aramis had given him off the end of the bed.

 

Only for the Musketeer to beat him to it. Waving it like a taunt, Aramis stated, "You can have this after I examine you. Now sit down!" It was an order, not a request.

 

"No!" D'Artagnan was not about to be fussed over. He made a grab for the shirt, only he moved too fast and made himself dizzy. When he stumbled and would have fallen, strong hands gripped his shoulders, guiding him to sit down on the bed again.

 

"Put your head down," Aramis said, placing a hand on the base of D'Artagnan's skull to ease him down, only to pull away when the boy hissed in pain. "Sorry...apologies." Even as he spoke, Aramis let his fingers thread through the dark hair, probing gently. "I take it this is the lump from when the Red Guard's captured you?"

 

D'Artagnan sighed. "Probably." He figured it was easier to give in the for the moment. He'd bide his time then make good his escape. So when Aramis cupped his chin to lift his head and began examining the small gash at his hairline, D'Artagnan did little more than wince. Although he hoped the man would stop poking at him soon, because his head truly ached.

 

When he was done examing D'Artagnan's head, Aramis moved to the shredded wrists. "Vadim tied you up." 

 

"What was your first clue?" D'Artagnan shot back, knowing he shouldn't take his irritation out on the other man, but he seemed helpless to control the impulse. 

 

"You struggled hard to get free," Aramis countered, once again stating the obvious. "I take it you were motivated." 

 

It was on the tip of D'Artagnan's tongue to blurt out the truth about being tied to the gun powder, but he stopped himself just in time. "I had to stop Vadim," was all he said. But the memory of being tied up and having only minutes to escape or be blown to pieces, flittered through D'Artagnan's head and he couldn't help but shudder. 

 

Aramis felt the fine tremors that shook D'Artagnan, but made no mention of it. Instead he rose to his feet and moved to a shelf where he pulled down a box. "I have a salve that will help you heal without scarring."

 

"Don't bother," D'Artagnan mumbled, staring at the marks. "They're fine." He really didn't want to be fussed over. Nor did he want to think about what had happened. He just wanted to get dressed and head for the Bonacieux's to see if he still had his belongings and a place to live. To that end he got up to snag the shirt Aramis had tossed out of reach.

 

"Do you want them to get infected?" Aramis lunged, once again removing the shirt from D'Artagnan's grasp before pressing the boy back down onto the bed. 

 

Swallowing a sigh, D'Artagnan shook his head. Which was the wrong thing to do because the motion sent spikes of pain through his temples and he had to swallow back the urge to empty his stomach. Black spots danced before his eyes and he felt himself falling into darkness.

 

The next thing he knew he was lying down and he felt something cool on his forehead easing the ache there somewhat. Blinking his eyes open, D'Artagnan was puzzled as Aramis' face came into focus over him. He started to sit up, but was startled when a damp cloth slid down his face. The Musketeer had placed a compress on his brow. Apparently he had also bandaged his injuries, because as D'Artagnan grabbed the compress he saw the white cloth wrapped neatly around both wrists. "How long was I out?" he croaked.

 

"Maybe twenty minutes," Aramis replied, offering a cup of water to soothe his throat.

 

"Thanks," D'Artagnan whispered, before taking a few sips. It felt wonderfully cool and eased the dryness. Handing the cup back he stated, "I'm sorry."

 

Aramis looked amused. "For what?"

 

Easing the rest of the way upright, D'Artagnan tried not to wince as his ribs protested the movement. "For being a bother," he replied.

 

"You're no bother," Aramis countered. "Although it is rather irritating that you refuse to tell me when you're injured. You know, like how you had bruised your ribs when we first met you, but that didn't come out until you nearly passed out the next morning while sparring with Porthos in the Garrison."

 

"I'm a little bruised," D'Artagnan protested. "It's nothing to fuss about." He searched the room for the shirt and spotted it at the end of the bed. Eyeing Aramis warily, D'Artagnan reached out and was able to successfully snag it this time. Rising to his feet, he carefully worked the shirt over his head. 

 

Aramis simply watched him, but his expression was thoughtful. "So what really happened with Vadim? Where did he tie you up?"

 

D'Artagnan had been reaching for his jacket, but he froze. He really did not want to revisit that moment, but he figured if he gave Aramis some kind of answer, then the man would let it go. "It was a room off of the tunnels under ground." There, he'd offered the simple truth just without any details. Although just thinking about it made his wrists ache and his body tremble. He had come too close to death in that moment. Far too close for his comfort. 

 

"You were close to the explosion." Aramis was not really asking so much as telling now. "I'm guessing you were in the room with the gunpowder. Yes?" 

 

"Yes!" D'Artagnan snapped, as the memory danced in his head yet again. And with the memory came a rush of fear that threatened to overwhelm him. He felt his knees buckle, hands catching him and making him sit as he battled to get control of his emotions and the shaking that made his entire body ache. 

 

Aramis sat beside D'Artagnan, not saying a word but offering comfort as he rubbed a soothing hand up and down the boy's lean back. When he felt the shaking begin to ease a bit, he shifted and cupped the pale face in both hands. "Better?"

 

D'Artagnan pulled back and nodded. He couldn't hide the flush of embarrassment that colored his cheeks. "Sorry," he mumbled.

 

"Instead of apologizing for no reason, why don't you tell me what happened?" Aramis beseeched him.

 

"Not much to tell." D'Artagnan could see that the Musketeer was stubborn and that he wouldn't let this line of questioning go until he had his answers. So he would tell the story and be done with it. "After Vadim knocked me out, I woke up in the room in the tunnels, tied to the barrels of gun powder. Vadim set a timer then left."

 

Aramis gasped, his expression going from stunned to angry. "Bastard! How did you get free?"

 

D'Artagnan stared at his wrists, reliving the moment when he frantically rubbed the rope around his left wrist against the sharp metal of the barrel. "Desperation motivated me. I was able to free my hands and pull the fuse. When I went to leave the door was stuck and when I heaved it open a dozen more fuses lit up. I tried to stamp them out but they burned too fast. So I ran. I didn't get very far before the gunpowder blew. I think I blacked out for a minute, but then I took off after Vadim, managed to wound him and that's when you all showed up. Now you know." D'Artagnan was pretty sure he was rambling now, but at least he got the story out and Aramis would leave him alone. 

 

"Vadim is lucky he's already dead!" Snarled a voice from the doorway, as Porthos entered the room.

 

"We never should have let you do this," Athos stated. He was right behind Porthos and he moved directly to D'Artagnan, anger etching sharp lines on his face. "Forgive us."

 

The apology stunned D'Artagnan. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who failed."

 

Fury turned Athos' eyes a stormy blue. "You did nothing of the sort!" he growled, gripping D'Artagnan by the shoulders and shaking him. Although his anger was at himself and not the boy, he shook him again, to reinforce the message, only to pull back when D'Artagnan whimpered in pain. "Apologies," he whispered, looking horrified.

 

"I'm fine," D'Artagnan was quick to reassure him. "Just sore." He managed a smile in the hopes he would convince Athos that he was well. Rising to his feet, D'Artagnan reached for his jacket and his weapons. "I need to find out if I still have a room and my belongings." 

 

"Of course." Athos had calmed himself and he gestured for D'Artagnan to precede them all. 

 

Once out on the street they gathered around the young Gascon. Athos and Aramis on either side of the boy and Porthos just a step behind him. The instinct to protect D'Artagnan and support him was strong. He might not wear a Pauldron, but he was one of them in all but name. 

 

Athos was still angry that D'Artagnan had almost lost his life today, but he was proud of the Young Gascon. He had done all that was asked of him, and more, to protect the King and the Palace jewels. He had the heart and soul of a Musketeer, and the strong sense of duty and justice that was required. If he managed to survive his impulse to jump into trouble feet first, Athos truly believed that D'Artagnan would make and excellent Musketeer. But they would have their work cut out for them trying to teach him to curb his impatience. Although, to be fair, Athos hadn't yet managed to beat it out of Porthos or Aramis yet, so D'Artagnan would fit right in.

 

"Let us make apologies first," Aramis was telling D'Artagnan. "Just stand there looking properly chastised and give Madame Bonacieux puppy dog eyes and she will instantly forgive you."

 

"Puppy dog eyes?" D'Artagnan echoed, eyes narrowed in suspicion. It sounded rather like the man was trying to get him into more trouble.

 

Porthos nodded. "It's that look you have like you're a sad puppy."

 

D'Artagnan glared at the big Musketeer. "I don't look like a sad puppy!"

 

"You do," Aramis stated. "And it's absolutely adorable. Constance won't be able to resist it."

 

"I hate you!" D'Artagnan growled at him, shoving him away. He wasn't angry so much as he was mortified at the very thought of having such an expression. He was also embarrassed by Aramis' continued assumption that Madame Bonacieux liked him. Sure she was kind and sweet and beautiful, but she was a married woman. Not to mention she had helped him several times now and he owed her much more than he could ever repay.

 

Aramis chuckled and gave D'Artagnan a one-armed hug. "I know women, my young friend. Mark my words. Just stand there looking pretty and adorable and all will be forgiven."

 

Porthos clapped D'Artagnan on the other shoulder. "Want to make a wager? I bet ten livre that Aramis is right."

 

"You don't have ten livre," Athos interjected, placing a hand on D'Artagnan's back and guiding him forward so that they stepped ahead of the other two, who were now arguing and giggling together like two gossiping maidens. Leaning into D'Artagnan he said, "Just tell as much of the truth as you can and all will be well."

 

"Thank you." D'Artagnan felt grateful for the advice, and he trusted that Athos was being honest with him. So he felt able to shake off some of his fears, and when they entered the Bonacieux household it was with the knowledge that no matter what happened, he would not be alone.

 

THE END


End file.
